


Cute

by orphan_account



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:05:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack thinks Grunt's tail is adorable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cute

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in November for a masseffectkink prompt... I wasn't planning on de-anoning, but whatever.

He’s a cocky ( _ha_ ) little ( _ha_ ) thing, but Jack still finds herself perched atop one of the crates in the cargo bay, listening to him drone on and on about his own awesomeness. Or something. She’s not really paying all that much attention, other than for possible lulls in which she could interject her own, far superior, stories of badassery.

“And just when the battle had been called as lost, when the honor of my ancestors was called into question–”  _Aha_ , so, now he’s onto stories about his species as a whole – but, really, Grunt seems to take all the stories about other Krogan to be equable to stories about  _him_ , so it’s not that great a difference. “Are you listening to me?” He pauses his pacing, fixes her with a look that reminds her of those old picture books you can sometimes get at gift shops on the more civilized planets, filled with photos of Earth and the weird animals that humans share it with, or (often) used to share it with. His expression, or as much expression a Krogan can have, makes her think of an eagle, of a puppy dog.

"I thought you’d never ask,” Jack drawls, then crosses her legs like she’s total zen or some shit, “but, yeah, kiddo, I guess I am.” Listening, that is. She’d make a lousy monk.

_Damn_ , he looks like a friggin’ shark. Aliens are nothing new to her, but, see, Krogan kind of have a template. Grunt doesn’t quite fit that, with the weird texture to his head and his too-light eyes, so he’s like an alien of an alien, as far as she’s concerned. She’s… not really complaining. Jack’s okay with weird. “You should be–”

“In awe.” She slaps her palm across her forehead when Grunt simply nods once, sure, completely missing the sarcasm she’d injected into finishing one of his many catchphrases for him. He launches back into his story. She’s careful not to smudge her eyeliner with the heel of her hand, as she massages her temples idly with her fingertips. Stubble sure is itchy; she’s glad she doesn’t have a dick, because that’d just be a pain to deal with all across your face. Her scalp’s enough, thanks

“…snapped the weakling’s neck into three pieces– are you unwell?”

Jack bristles, then slaps both hands on her knees and glares over at him. He advances a step, two steps, predatory. See,  _this_ language? This language, she speaks. Translators aren’t always necessary. She’s more than fluent in posturing, isn’t ashamed to partake in pissing contests, knows how to roll her shoulders and brace her arms just right to make guys twice her size back the fuck up. She could slide off the crate, get up in Grunt’s space and talk her usual brand of not-bullshit shit – so the bastard doesn’t think she’s some  _weakling_ whose neck needs to be snapped in however-many-pieces human vertebrae split into nicely – but the height difference kind of pisses her off (she’s not telling).

So, she scoots back, pulls her knees up and rocks forward, resting down on her shins, before rising up in a crouch. She grins, it’s more teeth than smile. “Why, you worried?”

“No,” he rumbles, and she opens her mouth to say something, when– when…

Her grin is suddenly more smirk than snarl. “Did you just  _wag your tail_ ?”

“No.” He sounds decidedly less certain.

Jack hops off of the shipping crate and breezes past Grunt, who looks vaguely puzzled. She’d honestly never paid a whole lot of tension to Krogan backsides, but, truly– tails? They seem so very out-of-place on a bipedal form, and… and… Oh, shit. She’s  _smiling._  “It’s just so small!”

And, oh, yeah, that wasn’t the right thing to say. Where a human would draw up short, jerk their chin up and straighten, a Krogan hunches forward and spins to face you, ready to charge at a moment’s notice.

Jack lazily draws a shimmer of electric-blue across one of her forearms, unfazed. “Don’t tell anyone,” and the nice thing about hanging around  with someone who’s not human is that they won’t be able to read much into her face, “but your tail is kind of adorable.”

Grunt looks at her blankly.

“Cute, Grunt." Her voice is more than a little strained. "It’s cute.”

“Cute,” he echoes, like it’s a bite of food he’s not sure he likes. “What is ‘cute?’”

“Your tail.”

“‘Cute.’”

Jack crosses her arms. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Some things are universal; Grunt puffs out his chest. “This is complimentary,” he decides.

This language, she doesn’t speak. “Sure.” Jack twists her lips into a suitably menacing scowl. “Dumbass.” There. Much better.


End file.
